An incomplete guide on how not to raise your children

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The Cookie Poops

The night started out like any other: bath, movie (fast forwarded to the last 15 minutes because lets be honest, it’s quittin’ time), books, 6 rounds of You Are My Sunshine, tucked snug as a bug, and done. #1 was quickly on his way to his playdate with Mr. Sandman.

An hour and a half later I heard the most faint ‘clink!’ from the kitchen, because in the past 3 years I’ve developed ears like a mama fruit bat and can hear a pin drop 5 miles away and my ears will perk up faster than the speed of light.

(Unfortunately), It wasn’t a bird…

It wasn’t a plane…

It was Superman eating every last peanut butter cookie.

So, like any good mother, I beat his ass and put him back to bed, Superman suit and all.

…This proved to be a BIG mistake.

…HUGE.

Not 30 seconds later he starts running through the house, screaming at the top of his lungs, “MOOOMMMM!!!!!! I GOT COOKIE POOPS!!! COOKIE POOOOOOOOOOPS!!!!”

And sure enough, enclosed in the entire lower half of his ensemble was (were?) the aftermath of 24 peanut butter cookies. If I ever wondered what amoebic dysentery looked like, this was it.

I was all…

Mr. MotherOfDragons was all…

And #1 was all…

But at least after his bath he blessed us with this glorious video:

You know, it’s days like this that I think to myself, ‘I used to have a proper job. What the hell am I doing here..”